


Placid Water

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [87]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Fic, Creature Hermione Granger, F/F, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: “I’m Fleur,” the woman offered, her voice heavy with compassion and care. “I’ve never met a selkie before. Hadn’t been planning on it, really."Or; Hermione is a selkie, Fleur is a witch, and magical-creature marriage proposals are all topsy turvy.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Series: One-Shot [87]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 26
Kudos: 189





	Placid Water

**Author's Note:**

> unedited  
> creature Hermione, cause I can't get enough of her.  
> Fleurmione, because I felt like branching out.

Hermione broke through the surface of the lake with a harsh breath, sputtering and coughing as she dragged herself forward towards the beach. Her skin was freezing despite the summer sun high up above her; lakes here never seemed to warm much above winter temperatures, and surely none of them became _mild._ However, the chill wasn’t enough to affect her mood as she drew closer and closer to the shoreline. Her fire was still burning in the pit she’d dug earlier that day, and the promise of warmth and safety after hours spent fishing was buoying her spirits.

When she finally reached the shore she left her most recent catch within the shallow pool that had formed from an outcropping of rocks. No birds hung overhead to poach a meal, nor any beasts to steal from her haul. As the afternoon grew long, it had become full up with trout and perch, a few salmon that she’d managed to reach out for. The lake held one thin stream that entered from the west and exited in the east, and during the melt that grew out from spring there were always fresh fish coming to rest here. No one would miss anything she took; either the lake had been abandoned by people or never reached, and since she’d made this her home, no one had ever visited.

It was, truthfully, precisely why she’d chosen this stretch of land. She couldn’t stand living with her mother or father. They were, at best, overbearing; at their worst, her parents were positively _stifling._ Hermione knew it came from a good place, but she’d never wanted to be held down by _their_ decisions or _their_ fears. Her father had learned the hard way that whenever he reigned her in, she would merely strike out with twice as much force as before. 

This land was better; peaceful hills, the sound of the wind, green grass in every direction and plentiful food beneath the water. A home all for herself. 

When Hermione finally came to rest upon the shoreline she shed the skin she’d worn; her body peeled open from the sides with magic, sealskin dappled with water and sunlight until it dropped away. Hermione revealed bronze and copper to the air, a shaggy head of hair knotted with frizz more often than not. Webbed hands picked up the sealskin, draped it across her lap, and slowly began the time-consuming process of cleaning it. As her only actual possession it was as delicate and magnificent as it could be; darkly brilliant, a scattering of brown and tan that gleamed beneath the sun. Now, though, the lake had covered it in sand and bits of weed that she’d picked up while diving, detritus that clung to her just as she held onto her catch.

The task took shape and slowly came to an end. When Hermione was satisfied that it was as clean as could be she stood and draped it against a rock by the fire, afterwards turning to her catch.

She had a hunch that muggles had stocked the lake at some point in the past, and now that they were gone the local fauna had crept back in, intermingling to create a shared ecosystem. Plentiful minnows fed the larger beasties, and some of the creatures down below looked so alien to her that she could never have named them. What lived there was all unaware of what a true predator meant, and Hermione was certain to use that to her advantage while hunting.

That wasn’t to say that Hermione thought herself _predatory._ She would eat her fill each day and hunt come morning, but there was nothing malicious about her presence. Just nature being filled by nature. If a muggle did one day happen by, she would leave them be unless they approached. Even if they _did_ come near, all that they would see were webbed hands and dark eyes. The mundane had a way of blanking out the possibility of _impossibility_ unless their minds were opened to it early. That had been how her parents met, after all. Her father had been a seeker of truths, and his imagination had been ready and willing to accept the reality of magic and selkies, seal wives and fish women, and love born from somewhere outside the heart.

Most muggles were safe. Most could usually be convinced to leave, or at least to leave _them_ alone. If she couldn’t get them to bugger off she always had the daggers pinned to her fingers, or her rather impressive bite, and the curving teeth that came with it. _Magicals_ were where it got harder, in her opinion. She settled into thinking while she dried, imagining scenarios that were unlikely to ever play out. 

Magicals had magic, _real_ magic. They lacked the suit of skin that Hermione had or her limited abilities with water. But they all had _wands,_ and they knew what selkies were. She had gotten the lecture of a lifetime before leaving home for here, and a special visit from her grandmother.

The old matriarch still bore the wounds of her assault, and Hermione had taken her words to heart.

She remained just as wary now as ever while she gutted her catch and raked scales from the flesh. The fire spit back at her when she draped the carcasses over a rock to cook, tiny embers that opposed every fibre of her being. She would never extinguish them, though; cooked fish was just _better_ than raw, at least to her. It helped that she could lightly season them with salt she’d found in an abandoned campsite some rivers away; it kept the gamey taste out and put a smile on her face to eat something warm and _tasty._

While she finished her meal, the afternoon sun slowly set off in the west, where a veil of clouds obscured its light. 

“Hello?”

Hermione yelped, startled forward into a twisting jump at the intruding voice. Its accent was strange, startlingly feminine, and lyrical in ways she’d never heard before. Her heartbeat accelerated painfully within her chest; breath hitched as she fought for something to cling to. 

Nothing.

She dove backwards, heading for the water but heedless of where she was or the skin she’d so carelessly tossed in her fright. All she could focus on was sighting the mysterious woman and keeping her there, away, where she could do no harm. 

When she actually _looked,_ though, she stopped.

A woman _did_ stand before her; the stranger’s hair so bright that it glowed, and her eyes so sharp they seemed like chips of Antarctic ice. The face was beauty incarnate, and as Hermione scooted backwards further into the water she lost any idea of where, or what, she was. Instead, she stumbled, shimmying, slicing her hand open on an outcropping of rocks.

 _“Ow!”_ she hissed, her body settling down as she brought the offending limb up for an inspection.

The cut that crossed her palm was ragged and deep, its edges torn and bleeding profusely. 

“Oh, oh no! _I’m sorry!”_

The intruder sprinted towards her now, and in her pain Hermione lost any ability to retreat. She couldn’t move backwards, so instead she curled _inwards;_ the woman stepped forward, Hermione cringed, the intruder whipped a stick out of nowhere-

 _“No!”_ Hermione barked, her voice a cudgel that stopped the approaching woman in her tracks.

All she could do was admonish herself; how in the bloody hell had she been so stupid as to get herself caught out? _How?_

The woman stilled and extended her hands, the wand held securely between thumb and index finger. She raised it further, pointed it up towards the sky, clearly aware of why Hermione had shouted out. 

“Relax, please. I’m so sorry; I never meant to startle you like that.”

Hermione didn’t believe those honeyed words, though, no matter how beautiful they sounded passing by the woman’s lips. She hissed, growled, bared her teeth in response.

The woman tilted her head and nervously laughed, clearly aware that Hermione could still fight back. “Sorry, yeah, I probably deserve that. But I can help you! I can heal your hand, at least. Please, would you let me try?”

Hermione curled further around her injured hand for just a moment, slowly relaxing as she thought the offer over. She knew the witch could already make a killing strike if she so wished. But her eyes were soft, _hurt,_ even. If it was all just an accident, what would be the harm in accepting help? 

A second passed by before Hermione finally uncurled herself, reaching out to offer her bleeding palm. The woman slowly knelt, her legs hidden beneath slowly lapping water, cautious of the same rocks that had ripped Hermione’s skin. 

“I’m Fleur,” the woman offered, slowly bringing the tip of her wand to press against the base of the cut. “I’ve never met a selkie before. Hadn’t been planning on it. I thought this place was abandoned, and then I just saw you and couldn’t stop. I thought you would hear me coming before I spoke, but I should have announced myself earlier, I suppose. Sorry about that.”

Hermione watched the witch work, nodding, wary, observing how the wand released slow vapours of red and gold. The magic stuck to her, covered her, heated and softened the pain that was slowly building towards a mighty crescendo. Another second passed and, slowly, the edges of the cut began to reknit themselves, disappearing entirely along with any vestiges of the pain. 

“There we go. See?” Fleur nodded and pulled back her wand when the wound had resolved to nothing more than a silvery scar. “All better now. That should fade away within a day or two, healing isn’t one of my specialities, but I can serve well enough in an emergency.”

Hermione felt at the flesh, the space where she’d been torn, running her claws over the line again and again. It all felt _normal._ Like it was always like that, always healed, and she couldn’t even tell that the line of silver existed except for seeing it. _Magic._ _True_ magic, a miracle she was astounded by. Nearly all the fear that had been bottled up inside her dissipated at that moment, a childish glee taking over.

Hermione looked around and spied no one else, “Thank you. But, I don’t have anything to repay you with.”

Fleur’s eyes widened, “Oh! No, no repayment necessary at all, no way. If anything, I should be paying _you._ I’m the reason you were hurt in the first place. “

When Hermione made to interject, Fleur smiled and broke in, “No, no _but._ That’s all I’ll hear about it. If it bothers you so much, then I’ll take having met you as payment enough. Like I said, never seen a selkie before. You’re, uh, well, you’re not what I was expecting.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side and squinted, slowly standing back up and heading towards her fire.

“What exactly _were_ you expecting?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Fleur stood, stretching as she put her wand back against a holster on her hip. “Certainly, I wasn’t expecting something so beautiful as you.”

A tinge of heat flushed through Hermione’s cheeks, her heart, at the compliment.

Fleur laughed, her voice airy and light. “I can see that blush, but I mean it when I say it. You’re everything the stories say, and yet still so much more.”

Hermione smiled and sank to her knees, warming herself by the dying fire. “I’ll tell you now, almost all of your stories are probably fake. Filtered through muggle folklore and all that. Still, I’d like very much to know what those stories say. You tell me, and we’ll consider ourselves even, yeah?”

Fleur perked up at the chance to make amends, eyes bright and smile so calm that Hermione’s heart clenched up.

“That’d suit me perfectly, if you’d like. Oh,” Fleur bent down to grab at something near the edge of the water, tossing it deftly at Hermione. “Don’t want you losing that. It’s far softer than I expected; I always thought seals were rough, even if they were sleek.”

Hermione awkwardly reached up and caught the object, belatedly realising it was her sealskin. As the magic settled from the action, her heart grew so warm it was nearly alight. Hermione peered up again at Fleur, the witch’s body highlighted by the fading light.

“But, I’m only eighteen,” Hermione croaked out, her hands dropping down to her sides. The Wilde she’d been born from was reacting, settling the magic of Fleur’s action. Hermione knew she could do far worse than the beauty who’d happened upon her tiny home, but the thought of being tied down seemed _frightening._ “I wasn’t supposed to get married _yet!”_

Fleur’s mouth dropped open, her eyes wide and blood draining from her face.

 _“_ **_Those_ ** _stories are true?!”_

**Author's Note:**

> based on a tumble prompt I read where someone picks up a coat and returns it to their owner, unintentionally accepting a magical marriage proposal


End file.
